


First Day Living With Grandma

by dsa_archivist



Category: due South
Genre: Drama, Gen, Series: Glimpses of Ben Series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2000-07-16
Updated: 2000-07-16
Packaged: 2018-11-11 04:10:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,320
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11140779
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dsa_archivist/pseuds/dsa_archivist
Summary: This is one of the first parts of the Glimpses of Ben Series.  This one is about how Ben came to be living with his Grandparents.





	First Day Living With Grandma

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Speranza, the archivist: this story was once archived at [Due South Archive](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Due_South_Archive). To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in June 2017. I tried to reach out to all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [Due South Archive collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/duesoutharchive).
    
    
    The couple waited on the porch.  The woman held a large, thick, multi-colored
    blanket in her lap.  The man seemed shrunken and sat in his chair hardly
    moving. Neither spoke, yet they held each other's hand tightly.  On the
    porch railing sat a young blond-haired man with glasses, a huge black
    bag at his feet. 
    
    A car engine could be heard approaching the cabin down the forest road.
    When the car pulled into sight, no one on the porch moved, tho the woman's
    eyes filled with tears.  As the car pulled to a stop the young blond-haired
    man moved down off the porch to open the passenger door.  The young dark-haired
    man sitting in the front seat turned his head towards the open door with
    a look of vacancy in his eyes. His face was scruffy with an unkempt beard
    and his hair needed a good brushing.   In his arms, he held a small boy
    tightly gathered to his chest.  The boy's eyes were open, his gaze firmly
    locked on the man who was holding him so tightly.  
    
    The driver of the car ran around the front to stand near the open door.
    He smiled nervously at the man seated in the vehicle.  "Robert, we're
    here now.  Let's take young Ben inside."  
    
    "You're right the boy needs to be put to bed."  The man addressed as
    Robert easily eased himself and the boy out of the car.  He paid no attention
    to the blond-haired man but walked steadily up the cabin steps.  
    
    Holding the blanket open towards the boy, the woman wrapped it around
    him tenderly.  The boy never turned his head in her direction; his eyes
    remained riveted on the man carrying him.  The woman tried to lift the
    child out of the man's arms, but the man held his arms around the child
    like vices and the boy seemed to snuggle in closer to man.  
    
    "Robert, take Ben into the house and put him to bed.  Your mother and
    I will be inside in a few moments.  Ok Boy."  The dark-haired man said
    as he leaned back on the chair he had just risen out of which he had
    just risen.  
    
    The man called Robert nodded vaguely and entered the cabin.  The sounds
    of his footsteps could be heard crossing the cabin floor, then faded
    away. 
    
    The man, who had driven the car, stepped in next to the woman and gave
    her a quick hug.  He cleared his voice nervously, "Robert's afraid he's
    going to lose Ben too.  He's more frightened than I have ever seen him."
    He choked back the tight feeling in his throat. "Young Ben won't talk,
    won't move.  He just sits staring off into space.  Wherever you put him,
    he stays.  It's like he's a little doll, I think if you set him on his
    head he'd stay in that position till you moved him." 
    
    Listening intently the blond-haired man stepped forward with his black
    bag in his hands.  "How long have they been this way?" 
    
    The woman put her hand out, "This is the Dr. Jacobs, Buck.  He's the
    only one for 200 miles, but he's young and fresh from Toronto." 
    
    "I see," Buck said quietly.  "Ben's been like this since Caroline died.
    Robert thought at first that it would just fade away.  But he's really
    scared now.  He's scared."  Buck turned towards the woman,  "Robert's
    afraid he's going to lose the boy too."  
    
    "Let's not stand out here, Martha." The woman's husband led the way into
    the cabin's interior.  He held the door open until the three people entered
    the cabin with him.  
    
    Dr. Jacobs laid his black bag down on the table and took out a small
    bottle of powder.  He went over to Martha quietly.  "Would you make your
    son and grandson some soup?  I can put this medication in it and they'll
    at least be able to sleep."  
    
    Martha Fraser quietly began putting some soap on to heat.  Anything she
    thought was better standing around.  Her son was 27 and a widower, her
    grandson just 6 and now with no mother.   Her heart felt heavy inside
    her chest.  She was amazed she could even breathe so tightly the weight
    of grief filled her.    
    
    It wasn't long before the soup was hot and in two large, different colored
    cups on the table.  Dr. Jacobs calmly measured out two different doses
    of medicine into the cups.  He pointed out which one was intended for
    the boy and moved away.  
    
    Martha placed the cups on a tray and gave the three men standing in her
    kitchen a solemn look before she headed down to the guest room where
    she knew Robert was.  She knocked on the door and entered without waiting
    for an answer.  
    
    Robert Fraser, 27, widower of Caroline Fraser sat on the guest bed holding
    his small, 6-year-old son.  His face was drawn and gray beneath his shaky
    new growth of beard.  But his eyes were focused solely on his little
    boy's face.  
    
    Benton Fraser, 6-year-old son of Robert and Caroline Fraser lay unmoving
    in his father's tight grasp.  His breathing was steady, but his eyes
    didn't blink, and his body was limp.  He wasn't aware that his father
    held him perhaps a little too tightly.  He wasn't aware that he wasn't
    in his own home.  He wasn't aware that his grandmother stood crying next
    to his father.  He couldn't move, he daren't move.  If he moved it would
    all be real. If he moved his mother would be dead.  If he moved, he would
    see all that blood again.  If he stayed as he was, he could forget his
    father finding him covered in her blood, his little hand held tightly
    in her death grip.  Moving would mean seeing it all again, moving would
    mean he could be seen.  Moving would mean the man might come back and
    find him. So he lay there secure in his father's arms and didn't move.
    His mother had asked him to be still, not to talk.  He would do as his
    mother asked.  
    
    Setting the tray down, Martha gently put a hand on her son's arm.  "I
    brought you and the boy some soup.  Help me get him to drink some." 
    
    Robert looked into his mother's eyes and nodded.  Ever so gently he raised
    Ben up until his little curly head relaxed against his shoulder.  Martha
    watched the boy intently and noted he didn't move a muscle.  Martha held
    the cup so that Robert could reach the spoon easily.  He ladled some
    soup onto the spoon and gently set it against Ben's pale lips.  The boy
    didn't open his mouth, didn't even blink.  Helplessly Robert looked up
    at his mother. Gently she put a hand on the little boy's chin and pulled
    ever so slightly down.  Like a little bird, the little pale lips separated
    just enough for Robert to slide in a little soup.  
    
    After fighting to get 10 spoonfuls down the boy, Martha watched the little
    eyes begin to close.  She could see the boy fighting it, and laid her
    hand on his hair.  She hummed to him as he finally began falling asleep.
    She sighed and turned to see her son's face begin to show some signs
    of relaxing as he gently lay the boy down and covered him with the thick
    comforter.  
    
    Martha lifted the other bowl of soup up and nodded to him to drink. 
    "Please Robert, drink it.  For Benton, please drink some soup."  
    
    Raising the soup bowl to his lips he took a small sip.  "Tastes better
    than the last batch you made mother."  
    
    She gave him a sad smile before kissing him on the forehead.  "Lie down
    with Ben and get some rest. Please." 
    
    He drained the cup and moved around the bed to climb under the covers
    with Ben.  He never even noticed his mother didn't ask him to take his
    boots off. 
    
    


End file.
